“Speeches?”
“Oh, my God! I’d forgotten about those,” she snaps, trying to get past me. “Of all the times, Landon. Honestly. If I didn't love you, I'd slap you.”
The door closes behind us and we rush, hand in hand, back through the corridors of the Château until we’re traversing the polished marble floors towards the boisterous noise in the ballroom. She checks the layout on the way through, probably ensuring, for the millionth time, that it’s as precise as she and Mother made sure it would be. It is. It’s everything my baby sister deserved, made that way because of the love we all have somehow found again after the near catastrophic fallout last year.
Ivy looks up at me as we walk towards the top table, her hand softly laid on Blake’s. I smile as she smirks at me and then looks back at Willow. Not that she has anything to smirk about. I didn’t actually deal with the prospect I went into that cupboard for, but I suppose I at least came out with something far better this time rather than being simply teased and left hanging.
My lips go to Willow's ear in the midst of the noise around us as we keep walking. “You’re getting the fucking of your life later. Be prepared for it.”
“Keep the top hat for me then.” She giggles and walks to her seat, her hand covering the very ring I’ve just put on her finger. I’m about to protest about that when a vision of white arrives in front of me, which is probably the reason she hid the ring in the first place.
“Late? Unusual for you, Brother,” Persephone says.
I keep looking at Willow, now imagining her naked with my top hat. “I would apologise, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t worth it.”
She looks between us, chuckling softly to herself. “Oh well, you’re here now. I think the floor is yours.”
Grabbing at some champagne, I smile at my fiancée for a few more seconds and then make my way to sit next to her. This is all our lives now. Persephone and Scott. Ivy and Blake. Me and Willow. My gaze casts along to see Neve and Noah at the far end, him looking decidedly aggravated about the prospect of being here. Tough. This is who we are. He’ll fit into it in his own way one day if he loves her enough because we are wealth and privilege at our core, all of it built from hard work and enterprise. We’re not going back to the nothing we were once made to be either.Not now I’m here to head the charge.
An explosion at our ancestral home won’t stop us. A man on a mission to kill us won’t stop us either. We rebuild, just like we have done at Tallington. We make the majestic stronger because of the threat, refusing to let something like that break our spirit. And perhaps there was a secret, but what good is a family without a few of those to throw complications around? Father dying might have been the best thing for all of us in the long run anyway, but, either way, that’s dispensed with as far as I’m concerned. The Davis Foundation has been set up to deal with it. It took some sensible discussions with Scott, but me throwing excess millions at an arts foundation seems to have brokered enough of a deal that we’re all happy with the outcome, especially considering Persephone runs it with Neve’s help.
My knife taps the champagne glass I’m holding, and I stand to look out at the guests in the huge room. They all stop their chatter eventually and turn to look at me. Fatherly speech? I’m not one of those yet, but I will always be here for Persephone, for all of them, and that thought makes a memory enter my head. A memory from a long time ago. It’s a memory of a small bundle of joy and intent on running naked along the lawns at Tallington towards the lake. She might have been two then, or three.
“Ladies and gentleman, I have a story to tell you about our bride and when I once saved her life. She won’t like it, but someone told me recently that I should try laughing more.” I turn at the thought, watching Willow smile back at me. “So, I’d like you to picture a very young, extremely wilful little girl who couldn’t swim. And then I’d like you to picture her much older and wiser brother telling her no. And then picture her sticking her little tongue out at me and running for the lake faster than I thought she could move.”
“Oh, God, Landon, don’t,” Persephone cries, hiding her head in her hands. “Please!”
Scott leans forward to look at me, a smile on his face. “No. Do. I want to hear this.”
I bet he does, and he can hear many more tales after this one if he wants. I’m happy enough to remember them now, and comfortable enough with him that having a drink and discussing old times sounds more appealing than I ever thought it would be. So, I keep speaking about times gone by until the rooms laughing with me, the champagne's flowing freely, and I’m starting to imagine a new generation of our lineage running the same lawns and swimming in the same lake as we did.
It’s all coming soon. One day soon.
IVY
“Blake, I swear, if you don’t leave me alone, I’m actually going to kill you.”
He chuckles beside me and helps himself to another passing glass of champagne. Frankly, I wish I could have one myself, but that’s not happening anytime soon.
“Stop being such a drama queen.”
“Well, you’re being ludicrous. Why aren’t you with the others?”
“Being a protective man is ludicrous?”
I turn to face him, clutching this orange juice. “Unless you hadn’t noticed, we’re at my sister’s wedding, not in a war zone. Go have fun. Even Landon’s laughing.”
“Of all the war zones I’ve been in, none of them were as terrifying as watching you carry our child around. I’m allowed to be protective. That’s going to keep me right here. Next to you.”
“For God’s sake, Blake. It’s not even out of me yet. And, as we’ve discussed on several occasions, I’m perfectly capable of-” His lips smother mine before I get the rest of my sentence out and, annoying as it might be, I do, in fact, melt and start swooning again. I really don’t know why that keeps happening. Some part of me thought, regardless of last year’s adventures, that I might have lost the sensation. Or he would. I haven’t. In fact, it’s only grown in intensity, to the point where he’s become something I don’t know how I lived without.
I pull back slowly, smiling, and look at his hand covering my stomach. “You can’t keep shutting me up by kissing me.”
“Well, it works,” he says. “And until you tell me to stop, I’m going to keep doing it.” His head drops down to where his hand is, and he presses a kiss to the six-month bump. “Besides, you need to keep your blood pressure down. Arguing isn’t doing that.”
“I’ll argue with someone else then.”
“Not on my watch, you won’t.”
